


Rival

by geekmama



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8105227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: Sherlock had never suspected that he might be the jealous sort...





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the "Triangle" prompt, set about four years after the end of the [Honorable Intentions](http://archiveofourown.org/series/439375) series.
> 
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> **************************************

Sherlock had never suspected that he might be the jealous sort, but since allowing his heart to overrule his head in forming a union with a woman -- _his_ woman -- his _Molly --_ he was learning quite a number of surprising things about himself.

Contrary to what he had long believed, he was not above certain emotional and biological imperatives. He had found that he was growing almost disturbingly attached to many of the features of domestic/married life. He actually _liked_ the new curtains and flowered tea towels in the kitchen; the small antique vanity in the corner of their bedroom, laden with her brush and perfume; the second refrigerator she had insisted be installed specifically for body parts. Her cat had finally stopped glaring daggers at him when he was in the loo. And luxuries such as home-cooked meals and frequent, random kisses quite reconciled him to the fact that 221B was obviously no longer the abode of bachelors.

But speaking of kisses… the Biological Imperative, too, must be considered. In discarding the one addiction, of which Molly so vehemently disapproved, he’d taken up another, though this one had her unqualified, and even enthusiastic support. It was disconcerting to realize that his long years of abstinence had not, after all, been entirely due to the discipline required for The Work. The use of narcotics apparently had neutralized his libido to a remarkable degree, and now that he’d been clean for an appreciable length of time he found himself thinking, and often behaving, like a bloody satyr. The happily replete expression on Molly’s face did much to ease the occasional twinge of guilt, of course, and he had not found that The Work was impaired  -- if anything he had a far more acute understanding of the situations and motives involved in crimes of passion.

For example, he could completely understand why one might be incited to murder on a peaceful Saturday when one’s dawn-hour seduction was rudely interrupted by an impertinent young rascal whose sole intent was to insinuate himself as a very much unwanted third wheel.

“Dad, let me up!”

“Go back to bed!” Sherlock growled.

But his words and tone were ignored as the covers were gripped and a small body struggled onto the bed. Sherlock gave an annoyed hiss of pain as Quinn clambered roughly over the obstacle that was his father, but Molly only giggled as the little boy bumped between them, shoving and burrowing beneath the covers, a look of not-entirely-innocent complacence on his face.

“Good morning, my love,” Molly said softly, laughter in her voice.

“Morning!” Quinn snuggled, and closed his eyes with a happy sigh.

Sherlock sighed, too. “It’s a good job you’re adorable, brat,” he muttered.

Molly, smirking, proffered a hand.

He took it and settled, resigned.

And yet, oddly content.

  
~.~


End file.
